


Talk it through

by Watch_this



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, past emotional abuse, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:56:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23526505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watch_this/pseuds/Watch_this
Summary: A sort of exploration of what Edward's father's parenting might have looked like
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Talk it through

“Love you too.” Edward hung up, and set his phone down on the table.

He stayed totally still for a moment, then slammed his fist down on the table, jumped out of his seat, and began pacing the room.

“Fucking bastard keeps doing this to me, kicks every other goddamn miscreant out of his life but for me, oh of course I’m the only sod lucky enough to stay in touch with him.” He ran one hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “God I wish he hated me, this would be so much easier if he hated me -”

“Edward,” Jonathan cut in, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Don’t use that fake unflappable calm, nothing you can say will shock me, I’m always totally emotionally supportive, psychologist bullshit tone on me!”

“Ok.” Jonathan got up, stretching languorously at the crick in his neck. “Then I will be in the lab. Feel free to relieve the tedium with your conversation.”

Edward stilled, and just like that his smile was back. “Well, I am a brilliant conversationalist.” If Jonathan hadn’t seen one of Edward’s fingers still frantically drumming a nervous rhythm against his thigh, he would have believed the act.

Edward trailed after him into the lab, and perched on one of the workbenches. He reached for the coffee that Jonathan had made earlier but Jonathan swatted his hand away, thinking Edward probably didn’t need any extra stimulants by this point. After a few minutes of watching Jonathan set up his equipment between various clamp stands and recalibrating his measuring balance, Edward began to talk.  
“If I wanted to talk about my father, there’s two true ways I could tell you about him, and since I don’t want to lie, I’ll tell them both. Shortest first: my father loves me, has hopes for me, and strictly speaking we have a perfectly civil relationship. Second version: my father loves me but doesn’t like me. He’s an alcoholic misanthrope, riddled with neuroses and insecurities, and living with him was the worst kind of drawn out torture I’ve ever suffered. When he was most inebriated, or otherwise at his least stable, you know what he’d say to me? I remember it vividly. His voice would be calm, if a little slurred, but his eyes would dart around the room like a cornered rabbit’s. He’d day ‘some days son, feels like you’re just faking everything to me.’ I’d come home with school grades I was proud of, and he’d say ‘go on, you can tell your old man – how’d you cheat?’ No matter how much I tried to be genuine with him, he’d tear me down so casually, accidentally most of the time, and I could never tell him that what he’d said had hurt, or he’d have another episode.”

“Episode?” Jonathan asked. He flicked on the gas tap and lit his Bunsen burner with a practiced air.

“Like a panic attack, followed by days of depression and paranoia. Screaming, yelling, crying, or going totally silent for days at a time.”

Unbidden, Jonathan’s mind conjured up images of Edward as a little kid, maybe a little small and scrawny but still with that red hair, trying to work out what he’d done wrong to upset his father. “Did he ever hurt you?” He asked.

“Hit me, do you mean? I think so. It might sound strange, but I don’t know for certain. I remember being in pain and being so afraid of him as a child. I woke up with a black eye the first time I came home properly drunk. I was in hospital once at night, not even screaming because I was in so much pain. But I was being too loud begging for painkillers, and I remember him being so angry. I think he slapped me.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that it? I want your full attention if I’m going to tell you something this personal!” Edward hopped off his workbench, and moved to stand next to Jonathan.

Jonathan turned to face him, lab goggles slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what reaction you want from me, Edward. You’re too performative for me to know what you’re really feeling, and I appreciate that your father must have been difficult to live with,” he reached around Edward for another glass beaker, momentarily bracketing him against the workbench with his arms, “but we both know I’m ill equipped to feel real sympathy, even for someone as interesting as you.”

“Bastard,” Edward mumbled, shoulders slumping as he began to relax. “At least you’re still a willing audience. Ok, the main issue that drove a wedge between me and my father was my intelligence. He told me all my life that he wanted a dumb kid, but it wasn’t until I reached middle school that I realised what he meant – he didn’t want me. He told me I couldn’t study psychology, because it would make me too creepy if I knew how to analyse what he was thinking. Faithful son that I was, I obeyed, though I picked up some psychology later during my frantic consumption of any and all knowledge. He was afraid of me, Jon. He was afraid of what my intelligence could do.”

When Edward looked up at him, Jonathan saw nothing in his expression but naked vulnerability.

“As you well know, Ed” Jonathan said. “Your intellect is extraordinary, and will be both your greatest asset and greatest flaw.”

“Suspiciously sweet, for you” Edward sniffed. “What’s your motive? Satisfaction at finally being able to dissect the links between my childhood experiences and my adulthood neuroses and fears?”

Jonathan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.” He cupped Edward’s jaw with one hand, tracing the curve of Edward’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb. 

“You’re like a wonderful specimen, where every time there’s a new layer to peel back and expose.”

“Your seduction technique needs work” Edward said, but he was smiling as he said it. “I enjoyed the flattery either way though – tell me more.”


End file.
